


Bereft

by Sangfroid_Sorrow



Category: Marble Hornets, Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Alex is a jerk, But that crumbles pretty fast, Depersonalization, Dissociation, Light Angst, Loss, Loss of Identity, M/M, Mental Disintegration, Numbness, Pain, Regrets, Spoilers, Superiority Complex, This is why you don't dispose of people you care about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangfroid_Sorrow/pseuds/Sangfroid_Sorrow
Summary: Alex reduces Jay's memory to that of a lost possession.(Nothing feels real anymore.)





	Bereft

**Author's Note:**

> I'm years too late for this speed-written fic, but by god, I can't help it. I love this fandom so much.

Alex Kralie is a man of few possessions.

 

Once, years prior, he owned a wealth of knickknacks and posters. They were loud and obvious and let the world know that these were the little things that made up who he was. They boasted his unusual interests, his talents and awards, and all the memories he knew by heart but desired recognition for.

 

The last photograph he had was of Amy, but it’s long lost.

 

He sits against the sunset, curled over some moss-kissed rock and nursing his head. His belongings used to be an indicator that he existed, that he took up space and, more often than not, a lot of it. Now, he has nothing. He doesn’t want to consider the resulting implications.

 

Alex can't accept that, nowadays, he's nothing but the clothes on his back and the gun hidden in his pocket.

 

Raising his head, he acknowledges the falling sun. It’s sinking in a black-red sky. The view looks like a bullet wound. His right eye twitches.

 

It’s almost blasé how he now thinks of Jay and realises that, this time, the man really _is_ dead. There’s to be no more midnight check-ins to ‘Marble Hornets’ and his phone is once again just an accessory— because who else would ever call? Always angry, worried, scared…

 

It was not unlike the effect Alex’s possessions had, in how Jay offered him a sense of importance. A crude form of identity. Regardless of how frustrated the other man had always seemed whenever their paths actually met, there was an arrogance to be found from his concern—one that Alex enjoyed.

 

Jay had looked for him-- obsessed over him-- for _years_. His presence, following closely with the delusion of subtlety, was so different to that of the Operator or the two masked men because Jay merely _cared_. There was no ulterior motive in his persistence.

 

No. Alex had never been a pawn to Jay. Rather, he had played the king. The power was intoxicating and it had always ached with heat, even as he pulled the trigger.

 

Though admittedly, their friendship was inconsistent by nature. Jay was as quick to probe as Alex was to anger and this had made for an explosive relationship, relying on Jay’s muttered apologies and dog-like loyalty to support it. The man was pliant, but intelligent enough to have his own opinions, and thus Alex rarely grew bored of him.

 

Pissed off, maybe, but not bored.

 

There was something about him that allowed Alex the intensity of control—the one thing he truly craved—and which even fed into an illusion of dominance.  Jay, for all his stupid questions and arguing, let him feel more alive than anything else.

 

And he had killed him.

 

Calmly, Alex closes his eyes, raising his hands to cradle his head once more. His breathing is steady. He doesn’t so much as frown.

 

He's been trying to ignore it, but there’s a numbness itching beneath his flesh. The irritant is dulled by his detachment. He breathes as if the air will taste of forest, or the night, or something real. His fingers run over his features, burying deep into his throat, his face, the sallow rims around his eyes, as he searches for pain. His nails graze an inch too deep, but he feels nothing.

 

He has killed the one he lived through. _Survived_ through. He may as well have killed himself.

 

A sudden, blazing anger uproots him. Restless movement pulses through him as his wretched, tired legs begin to pace. Under his breath comes hissing, words dripping with undeserved rage. They're ugly and harsh and true. He swears, clenching his fists until they pop. It’s an overload of the emotions he has neglected, and, for a second, he notes a sort of sadness… but fury overcomes it with fire.

 

Yes, Jay had been very much akin to a possession. In that way, he was precious. He was _Alex’s_.

 

But now he's gone, and Alex is bereft. 

 

Coming to an abrupt halt, his stare returns to the dying sun. Perhaps this time he'll follow.


End file.
